Pieces
by HimeFlye
Summary: Chapter 5 Itachi - Someday you'll rise to fly, and you will go to the very top of the world. But once you get there you will look back down, and miss everything you left behind.
1. Kankuro: Toys With Knives

_**Pieces**_

_Sometimes their lives were painful, but among the scattered flecks of dust and blood there were small slivers of glass, and if looked at carefully, at the right angle, and your eyes half squinted, they each could see light reflected by the sun and creating a clear image of themselves._

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**Toy's with Knives—Kankuro**

He wasn't stupid, he was just young. The problem was, no one told him anything. No one explained. His father did not explain why their mother was dead, Temari didn't explain why she would play with him at home, but ignore him at school. No one explained now either, as the older academy student punched him in the face for trying to do something nice.

Kankuro's head struck the stone wall behind him, hurting sharply.

"You lost our soccer ball you jerk!"

Another punch, this one to the eye.

"It was mine." Kankuro said, shielding his head.

"It was the only one we had to play with!"

Kankuro hunched on the ground, grabbing his injured eye and feeling warm blood between his fingers. He hadn't meant to make anyone angry with him. He had simply seen the way the redheaded boy was watching, his strange colored eyes carrying a familiar look in them; one that, in many ways, Kankuro understood.

So, when the others had hurried into class after the break he had taken the old leather ball to the kid, setting it down and scooting it across the sand carefully with a foot. Then, he'd turned and ran back to the school as fast as he possibly could, knowing already that he had made a mistake.

"Stop it! Stop it!" One of the older girls ripped the older boy off Kankuro, "He's the son of Lord Kazekage you idiot! Don't _kill_ him!"

"If he's the Kazekage's son then he should be able to defend himself and not have to have a girl come do his work for him!" the boy challenged, tearing from her grasp.

They were right, he should be able to defend himself.

"Ya, but if Lord Kazekage finds out he's going to cut off your head." the girl snapped back. "So lay off. It's not his fault."

Not his fault. . .

Kankuro gritted his teeth, jumping at the boy who had hit him. Blood filled his vision as he punched again and again. The other children grabbed him, throwing him off as Kankuro clawed and hit at anything he could get his hands on. One of the boys picked up a heavy rock from the school grounds, anxious to join the fight.

.

.

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Kankuro didn't go home. He slid through the ripped part of wire fencing that guarded an old training field, long ago closed off as being too dangerous for use. No one went in there, that's exactly why it was Kankuro's hiding place. He washed his face, using the last bit of water from his canteen. In the grey metal he could see his own reflection. He stared, wondering why his vision still seemed so blurry. Angrily, he tossed the empty canteen away "I _do_ look like Him. That's all they see. My father."

In Kankuro's world there were two groups of people, different from each other and yet still the same. First were the people who looked at Kankuro, and respected him for no other reason then his heritage They left him alone. . . Mostly.

The second group were like those boys, they tested Kankuro, they would hurt him for no other reason then to make themselves feel strong. No one cared. No one saw beneath his name.

It was a good thing.

It made him strong and. . .It hurt.

It hurt knowing that he was expected to be the mirror image of their Kazekage when he couldn't. It hurt to know that he was a disappointment. Worse then all of this, Kankuro knew that no one truly liked him. They liked the title, they liked the fight, but if it came down to it they would always betray him. They would always stab him in the back.

Pulling out the small, light wood puppet that old Lady Chiyo had given him last week, Kankuro used his chakra to create little strings attached from his fingers. He gave a little tug, sending the half human/half spider puppet flying through the air. He kept the tension with his chakra until he drove the small weapon into the ground. The young boy lifted it back up with a yank of his hand, sending it the other way where it crashed into a rock, then an old shrub.

"You all hate me," he whispered, watching as the puppet crashed into a pile of sharp rocks. He yanked it the other way with his left hand, then his right.

"I look like my father you know."

The puppet flew through the air, he let it free fall until it almost hit the ground before he grabbed it again and threw it against a metal post.

"And I'm going to be just as strong someday."

The puppet crashed, falling into a shattered clump near a boulder. Kankuro moved his fingers until the pieces came back together, looking somewhat like it originally had—for no other reason then to break it again.

"I can do anything. Do anything I want."

_Crash_

"No one can stop me."

_Crash_

"I'm Kankuro!"

_Crash_

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.

.

The chakra strings thinned than disappeared. Kankuro breathed heavily, walking slowly to the crumpled heap of wood and metal.

"Loser" he whispered, kneeling and fitting the pieces carefully back together. This puppet was made for training, so certain weak parts broke easily, and repaired just as well. He replaced each part by hand; latching in the arms, the legs, and then the head to the body.

His puppet, he'd destroyed it, yet it was still there. It didn't run, didn't fight back. It was useful; not like the dumb toys the others played with, not like the stupid soccer ball. It was always with him, It would not betray him and repeat his angry words, his promises. It would not tell anyone how he hated life, hated his teachers, hated his fellow classmates, how he hated his family. . .Or his lack thereof.

More than anything, most importantly, his puppet would not tell anyone how much he loved his big sister. How he watched her train and envied that fierceness he couldn't fake. How he watched his father, willing to do anything, even something he hated, just in hopes of hearing, even a displeasing word.

Or. . . When there was a storm outside, it would not tell anyone how he still missed his mother, a woman he couldn't even remember.

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**Author notes: **So essentially I was feeling like a one shot and decided to start writing random small pieces about all the different characters and their childhoods. So, not just sand sibs, I'm thinking of doing Hanabi or Hinata next actually. So stay tuned and we will see what I can come up with.

**IMPORTANT: **If someone wants to see a character done, tell me. But **MORE IMPORTANTLY.** If you have a fun prompt I can try, or a different way of writing that I can experiment with, just tell me so in the comments. I want to experiment a little with these. Leave me reviews and tell me what you think.


	2. Kakashi: The Scars

**Pieces**

_If you could erase every scar, _

_you would not be left as a perfect person, _

_but the memory of someone you can't remember._

**The Scars - Kakashi**

The water was cold as the young Jounin, no more then 15 years old, washed his face in the sink. The Bathroom mirror was faded and old. A thin spiderweb crack in one corner disfigured the image of the headboard of the doorway.. The bathroom itself was a mess, the floors had not been swept in over a month and the soap dish had long since been emptied.

Hatake Kakashi looked in the mirror, water dripping from his nose and running off his chin. Pressing his hand against the glass he turned away, avoiding eye contact with the person in front of him. With the sharingan. however, it didn't matter if he was looking or not. This eye saw everything, it saw things that Kakashi knew wasn't there. In the faded glass he could see Obito grinning at him, he could see Rin smiling happily, dangling her feet off the counter and complaining about the mess and health hazard of the room. Kakashi clenched his eyes shut, it was the only way to make the memories stop, but in the darkness, deeper memories stirred. There was no running, not from one's self. "I should have done something. I should have been watching her, I shouldn't had been a klutz. . . All this time. . . I should have said I was sorry."

He turned from the mirror, walking down the hallway, which needed to be vacuumed. What would the Anbu think about recruiting someone so slothful? What were they thinking anyways? He had failed more missions than he had ever succeeded. IT was clear to Kakashi, he wasn't stupid. They didn't want him they wanted his eye, Obito's eye. They wanted the sharingan. More than anything, the Uchiha police wanted to keep an eye on him, the kid with the eye, the eye he had borrowed, stolen. . . Killed for. . .

Kakashi walked down the hall, pulling his latest reading material from the broken side table, and passing the the dirty kitchen where a carton of milk, (Well past it's expiration date) sat half full on the table. Kakashi made his way to the door so he could go outside. He paused, setting his hand on the closed door beside him. The third one from the back porch, second one from his room.

It was closed. It was locked from the inside. There was a window of course, a skylight actually, which Kakashi could have used to open it; that was how he had locked it after all. But, for years, that door had remained closed. . . Obito and Rin were not the only shadows that haunted this house.

Reaching for the knob, Kakashi wondered if maybe he could do it, go outside, go up to the roof, through the ceiling, into that room. . . He turned away. No. He couldn't go in, not again. "I'm sorry you know," he whispered into the empty house. "I'm sorry your name isn't on that stone along with theirs. It should be. . . You were really brave." He stood, walking out the door. He didn't like this house, it was too empty. He liked his books, they were full of people, people he could worry about without having to worry about. It was just a story. If he wanted to he could close it, shut it out. Not like life. No matter how many doors he shut and locked. The memories were always there.


	3. Sai: Red on Black

_**Pieces**_

_The things I feel. . ._

_The things I love. . ._

_These things . . ._

_. . . are me._

**Red on Black - Sai**

It was late morning and one of Danzo's three assassins was still missing.

Danzo tapped his cane on the ground impatiently, all the others had already returned and reported their success, but one had not.

It was the first time he had sent the boy on an Anbu level assassination all by himself. The real assassin stuff – knives in the night, get in, don't be seen, get out. There was no doubt in the Foundation leader's mind that this particular Root member was capable of such a mission, however he was growing concerned. He didn't want any problems, each piece of the plan had to be in place, the other two had succeeded; but where was the third?

Forming his hands into a seal, Danzo was able to pinpoint the assassin's location using the Anbu tattoo the boy had on his shoulder. It was the same technique the Hokage used to summon his own personal guards and Anbu soldiers, but the Hokage couldn't touch any of Danzo's Anbu, not unless he wanted him too.

There a few miles from the village. . . Still, the situation was still worrisome to Danzo, so he decided to go out and find the young shinobi himself. He had a feeling something was amiss.

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.

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A few miles outside Konoha Danzo stopped at the base of a tree. Not a single leaf moved against the light wind, nothing but the Anbu swirl seal to give away the store-away in the branches.

"Report!" Danzo commanded.

A single branch swayed a little and the twelve-year-old boy jumped from the tree, landing in a kneeling position, but he stood up before Danzo commanded him to. His fists' clenched, eyes shut, and feet apart slightly so that his dark clothing wouldn't touch his skin. He wore the standard long black shirt of the Anbu, with tightly fitted sleeves and gray vest. He was covered from head to toe in blood.

"What happened?" Danzo snapped, looking around uneasily, "Were you seen?" He had to mentally remind himself to clam down; But if this boy had been followed. . . It would be a shame to have to loose the kid this far into his training.

"The. . .They saw me. . ." The dark haired boy stuttered. His eyes were a listless gray/black and he covered his mouth with his hands to get the taste of blood from his lips as streaks of tears ran down his face; smearing ink and blood, "but. . . But I killed them. . . I killed all of them. . . ."

Danzo frowned uncomfortably.

This wasn't good.

". . . Is anyone alive to recognize you?"

The Anbu shook his head, finally dropping the pale cat like mask he had clenched in his hand. Blood pooled on it's surface, almost like a cup. The twelve-year-old boy broke down, tearing at his blood covered shirt, pulling it from his body, his pale skin tainted red. "I didn't mean too! They were awake. . . His entire. . . Entire. . ."

He had to search for the word.

"Family!"he finally blurted, "They were all awake."

"Then you should have waited." Danzo said.

The boy shook his head, "I tried. . I. . . I really tried but then. . ."

Most of the next explanation was not understandable, but Danzo was finally able to piece it together. He looked at the shaking form in front of him.

It had been years since the boy had shown any emotion at all, but now he was completely useless to Danzo, so torn about the lives he had taken. (Innocent lives, even Danzo had to admit that) that the child could no longer function, but clutched two steal Kunai in his hands, unstable and unsure.

_So much blood_ Danzo thought. It made even the black clothing look red.

"You did well." He said carefully, "It's alright. These things happen. The important thing is that your target is dead. You have a face to cross out in your bingo book now."

Danzo watched as the young Shinobi raised the knife, grasping it blade and all, cutting into his own hand. He hadn't seemed to hear Danzo at all.

"It's not fair! I'm not even bleeding!" The boy yelled. "It's not mine!"

A couple droplets of blood hit the ground near his feet, mixing with the red stain of the grass.

Danzo reached to the wrappings around the side of his own face. "Look at me boy!"

And as the young teen did, he was suddenly lost in a world of darkness, but at least there was no red.

Danzo replayed the mission for him, genjutsu form; the quick and easy kill, with hardly the tanto getting stained, the easy escape, and the report back to Danzo himself. Danzo changed it all, then, he even took that information away. The only reason this young Anbu would ever know he went on the mission at all would be the x-ed out face in his book, nothing more.

He couldn't remember the information in case he got caught, and he couldn't remember the experience and still be the shinobi Danzo needed.

He would have the muscle memory of course, each technique, and skill gained from missions from now on would stay with him forever, but. . . The images and feelings of said missions would be lost

Completely worn out from the genjutsu the young boy collapsed. Danzo caught him easily and began the long trek back to Konoha, to Root. "It's alright." He murmured quietly, picking up the mask and dumping out the blood. "There is a reason those of the Root have no emotions."

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_**Epilogue**_

Sai didn't remember anything.

In all action it seemed he had never gone on that fateful and bloody mission when he was forced to kill the war general's entire family, children and all. It was as if it had never happened.

Except for one thing.

It was that time that Danzo could pinpoint Sai's change in clothing habits. He requested permission to wear the light gray top, (the one that only came to the center of his lower chest.) rather then the slandered Anbu vest. Instead of long tight sleeves, the black jacket and low cut trousers. Only one sleeve on the jacket was long and tight, and that was so it wouldn't get caught on the tanto when in use.

Danzo had quizzed him of course, worrying the genjutsu hadn't taken right. But it had. Sai remembered nothing.

There was just one thing he had said to Danzo once, after a long mission.

"This fabric doesn't get wet so easy." he had said, looking blankly at Danzo, then wiping a small smear of blood from his bis bare center, staring at the now darkened sleeve. He just stared.

Despite the memory genjutsu, Sai couldn't help but hate the feel of blood covered clothing.

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**Author notes: So ya, not canon, but if I wanted to write canon I would just watch the anime/read manga right? Anyways. Altogether I like how this turned out. However, just because I say that and sound all confident feel free to critique and comment I like comments that will help me improve my writing.**


	4. Gaara: Useful

**Author note: I do not own Naruto**

**Beta reader: Thanks to Authorswimmerpoet for reading this story and helping me with the end. She is amazing.**

**Pieces**

_How can one except you to give something you have never received?_

_Everything I've ever had has never been my own._

**Useful - Gaara**

"No, you're doing it wrong. Like this." The Fourth Kazekage grabbed eleven year old Gaara's wrists in his hands, repositioning the jinchuuriki's fingers to the proper signs, a half ram sign near his chest, and the other half used to cover his left eye. "Chakra points matter, Even you have to push yourself to gather the chakra OUTSIDE your body, but still connected." The Kazekage let go of Gaara's hands and stepped back, frowning at the boy's pathetic lack of form.

The hot sun beat down on their heads and sunk deep into the Kazekage's black tunic. The thought of changing the color of clothing didn't even cross his mind. It was all as it should be. Gaara wore reds and browns like blood and sand, the leader of the sand village still wore black.  
>A swirl of sand rose up in front of them, condensing evenly along with the chakra, forming and thickening. Then it was dispersed and fell listlessly to the ground. The Kazkeage turned to see what on earth had gone wrong. Gaara just stared at him, not seeming to care. "I'm done." he said simply.<br>"No you're not."  
>Gaara turned, walking towards the large arena door. This training field was one of the largest in Suna, the dark walls were tall and narrowed slightly at the top. The stone was lined with gold for one express purpose: Keeping Gaara in line.<p>

"I'm teaching you this technique to help you." the gold user said coarsely. "With it you can see your enemies before they see you, spy on what they are planning. The eye may be very small so it's hidden, or very large with a wider range of sight. Either way your vision will be better then it usually is and you can block unwanted attacks before they happen.

Gaara stopped, standing still in the sand "Why?"  
>"Why what?" The Kazekage asked in annoyance.<br>"Why teach me then?"  
>"You're probably the only one in Suna besides myself who can do it." The Kazekage said. He didn't tell him the full truth, didn't tell him that the changing and condensing of chakra that the sand or gold eye technique required was based off of the way demons controlled chakra, it could hopefully help train Gaara to control the one tailed sand spirit more efficiently. He didn't want to tell Gaara this because then Shukaku would know, though he suspected the monster already did, and that was perhaps why Gaara happened to get bloodthirsty at a time like this.<br>"I'll come back and learn it later. I want to go kill someone." Gaara stated, perfectly blunt, and perfectly serious.  
>"No you're not." The Kazekage said forcefully. "You're not going to kill anyone until I say you can."<br>Gaara turned, eyes dark and dangerous. Raising a hand he grabbed the nearest Anbu guard and encased the struggling man in a cocoon of sand. It tightened threateningly.  
>Face calm, the Kazekage watched Gaara, he looked at the sand, then back to the red haired demon in front of him "Okay fine." he stated coldly. "Do it. You have my permission."<p>

Gaara threw the poor soldier against the wall, letting the man go. He was hurt, but alive. He was one of the few.  
>"I'm not doing this to please you." Gaara addressed his teacher "And I'm only allowing you to live because you have proven useful to me in the past. Even if your constant assassination attempts are an annoyance."<br>The Kazekage nodded one. He had heard this before. "I have more than just a few techniques to teach you Gaara, but I'm not teaching you a thing if you're going to use them to kill innocent civilians on your bloody whims."  
>"Then I will come back in a few hours when it's cooler and we will continue." Gaara said.<br>It was the first time in a long while where the boy actually sounded somewhat agreeable  
>"And then when I have learned everything you have to offer me. I will kill you."<p>

The Kazekage watched Gaara walk away, then turned, gesturing for two of the Anbu to keep an eye on Gaara, and the other to get medical help for the injured solder. Then he too walked away. He was going to have to take care of Gaara eventually. This problem was simply getting too out of hand.

Already several blocks down the street Gaara kept walking. He was annoyed at the blood he had been denied, and he was irritated that he couldn't do a technique that should have been simple. However, even with these irritations the boy's thoughts were far from the day of training, and he wasn't thinking about killing either.

Gaara ran his fingers along the skin of his wrists. He almost expected the places his father had touched him to look different, but they didn't. In his head Shukaku hissed constant instructions, 'Kill the Kazekage, destroy the village as your mother wished with her last bleeding, dying breath. Kill them all!' Still, Gaara didn't. His father had more to offer him. 'After the sand eye technique then.' Shukaku hissed, 'Kill him then!' Gaara nodded, speaking out loud to tell the demon that would be okay. Though honestly...he wasn't sure it would be. He touched the place on his wrists again, the faint sensation of skin on skin. But it wasn't the same.

Gaara was barely aware of the people on the streets moving out of his way as quickly as they could. He wasn't aware of it mostly because it was so normal. Everyone moved for him, and only one person ever dared get close enough to touch.


	5. Itachi: My Weak Strength

**Author note:**I wrote this in first person, present tense, I don't think I've tried this before, nor have I written much about Itachi. What do you think?

**Pieces**

_Someday you'll rise to fly, and you will go to the very top of the world._

_But once you get there you will look back down,_

_and miss everything you left behind._

**My Weak Strength - Itachi**

Tears fell and I expect them to be red, red as the blood on my hands and my clothing. Whispers and cries echo through my mind, but they are all swept away by the soft thump as I watch Sasuke collapse on to the ground in pool of blood stained water.

This isn't fair to anybody.

Hot tears roll down my cheeks and I instinctively want to pick my little brother up and embrace him as a goodbye, to perhaps give him some inkling of the hope and comfort, which I have just shattered.

It could be another way couldn't it? I could take care of him. We can say it was the masked man's doing; that he killed the Uchiha clan on his own, not I. . .I could carry Sasuke somewhere safe and we could both pretend together. . .That this in no more than a scary dream.

I know He'd believe me. Because for every time I lie to him, Sasuke always believes me. Why shouldn't he?

I'm his big brother. I'm strong enough to pass the hardest of tests, vanquish the toughest enemies. . . Destroy my own clan. . .

But I am not strong enough to hug my little brother goodbye.

If I do, the results will be disastrous. The mask man, Madara, will be watching, and he will see my weakness. He'd see my weakness, and for that we would both die.

I would break an oath with Danzo, something he would not take lightly. I would fail my duty.

How would it be though? To watch Sasuke grow? to. . .Take my parents' place as they requested before I literally slaughtered them both. . .

Of course not.

Of course not because I know that I wouldn't be able to look at him day after day, knowing the truth. I could lie in words but never in heart.

I would lie to gain his love, when all I deserve is his hate.

Because I am weak.

I turn and walk away, leaving Sasuke lying in the rain and the cold. I'm not strong enough to help him right now, because if I try. Madara would see. He would be watching, and he would know my weakness and he would murder it while it lay there helpless.

But If Sasuke lived, someday he'd be his own strength. His hate will give him determination, his love will give him will, and his spirit would fly from the past into something powerful and wonderful to defeat all that is wrong with this sad world.

My weakness will be my strength.

He will someday defeat the man I am not strong enough to face.


End file.
